


Black Widow: Torch of Light (A Black Widow Novella)

by Remyroo17



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, Katie mcgrath as Kate bishop, Nat is bi, The kid will come into it soon I promise, dove cameron as Alyona, no warnings apply yet, stevenat TECHNICALLY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remyroo17/pseuds/Remyroo17
Summary: This is the Black Widow solo movie I have had planned in my head for around four years. I always wanted to turn it into a script, but with the release of the BW movie creeping ever closer, I decided to write it like a fanfic/story, as it was the script part I was having so much trouble with. And also because the more that was released about the BW movie, the closer it seemed to the idea I already had!I'd appreciate any feedback on this, as long as you're nice about it. If you'd like to know more then please do ask, and if you'd like to read more I'd love to hear that too.
Relationships: Natasha Romanoff/Kate Bishop, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Ballerinas. Fighting. Guns. Blood tests. Graduating. Surgery.

Natasha rolled and tossed and turned in her sleep, breathing irregularly, clutching her pillow to her chest like it would protect her.

Files, documents, computers, redacted, _redacted_ , **_redacted_ **.

She’s strapped to a hospital bed, two men just visible through the door, talking.

“А как насчет юга Франции?"

The south of France.

Natasha sat up abruptly, now wide awake. Strands of hair stuck to her face with sweat. She panted, trying to catch her breath.

She reached for her phone to check the time. Four in the morning. That’s as good a time as any to get up.

She padded into her kitchen, flicking her coffee maker on and grabbing an apple from her fruit bowl as she went. The lights automatically came on for her, starting dim and gradually getting brighter.

While her coffee poured, Natasha double tapped the glass surface of her small dining table.

“Miss Romanoff,” came Friday’s voice as a keyboard appeared on it. Part of the table lifted up at an angle, soon becoming her home desktop. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a secure private server,” she muttered, reaching for the coffee pot and a clean mug on the counter behind her. “No access to anyone but me under any circumstances. This needs to stay hidden.”

The screen changed colour, signifying Friday had followed her orders. Nat sat down with her mug and took a bite from her apple. Living in the new Avengers facility had its perks.

She cleared her throat. “Friday, everything that’s about to happen in here, isn’t happening, you follow?”

“Understood. Where would you like to start?”

Natasha took a deep breath. “I need anything anyone has ever had on the Red Room. No exceptions. I want _everything_. Start with me and France.”

A loading bar appeared on the screen. Files and images started to pop up on the table around her, most of them with large sections blacked out. With each file getting smaller as another was added, they ended up as little fragments of their titles. By the time Friday had reached just 10% of her search, the table was practically overflowing with data. “That’s everything on you and on France,” Friday informed her.

“Thanks,” Nat whispered, dragging a few files toward herself to take a closer peek. The progress bar continued, the AI gathering everything else in the background for Nat to look at later.

The first item Nat chose was about her ‘adoption’, aka her theft from her real family.

Natalia Romanova had never been the ideal student. Always the top of her class when it came to tests, but rarely ever actually present in lessons. She was the definition of a truant, too smart for her own good, but they wouldn’t move her up a grade or two because she rarely showed up to class. 

After getting into an ugly fight at school - and winning - she’d been recruited into the KGB. Her father, Ivan, couldn’t have been more proud. Her mother was already gone, she’d died in childbirth.

She excelled in the strict training environment of the Red Room, and quickly became regarded as a master spy in the making, on track to be the world’s greatest assassin. 

And then she graduated, and was sterilized. 

She never considered there were parts of her the Red Room might have kept. Say, the tiny eggs of her DNA she would no longer need after her ‘graduation’.

The next file she chose was on the Red Room’s facilities. In particular, one in those lovely mountains in the south east of France, bordering Switzerland.

“Friday, how good are you at un-redacting stuff like this?” She asked, fingers hovering over the text that was almost all blacked out. 

A scanner appeared on the screen, rolling over the documents beneath Natasha’s hands.

“Five percent complete,” Friday said.

She scanned again. 

“Nineteen percent.” 

Text was gradually appearing.

“Twenty-six percent.”

Nat watched as more and more Russian became clearer.

“One hundred percent,” Friday said. “However several sections are written in a Russian code I’m unfamiliar with.”

“Highlight them?”

Nat looked at the words with a frown on her face. A niggling in the back of her brain told her she recognised it, but couldn’t quite put her finger on how to untangle the code. “It feels familiar. You got anything else with this stuff on it?”

There was a pause before Friday responded, and a little loading circle was twirling on the screen. “I found 3,429 documents with the same code. Would you like to see the twenty-seven more relevant items?”

Nat just nodded, sitting back in her chair. “Bring em up,” she said, cradling her coffee.

The rest of the glass table lifted to meet the angle of the smaller screen, then came forward a little more so Nat could see everything from where she sat.

“Friday, what’s actually wrong with the words? I can’t put my finger on it.”

The AI scanned the highlighted portions of text. “It looks as though the letters were randomly chosen to make it look like a real word.”

Nat stood, looking closer at a few of the pages. “Most of this is about me,” she muttered. “That puts us, what, KGB-era techniques in the late 80s…” she sighed. “So some letters are being replaced with others… you know what that means, Friday?”

“Scanning for 1980s KGB tactics.”

“No need,” Nat said. “It’s a playfair cipher.”

“Playfair ciphers became outdated around 1914.”

“Exactly. What kind of idiot would use one in the 80s? Who would bother checking for one? I’m telling you, we just need to find the right five letter word to unscramble this mess.”

“I’ll start with a few hundred from the dictionary, shall I?”

Natasha couldn’t help her smirk - trust Tony to give his AI a sense of humour. “Actually, let’s try just one. My mother’s name.”

The computer paused. “I don’t have that information on file.”

“Alena,” Nat supplied. She threw back the rest of her coffee as Friday filled in the cipher grid.

Natasha watched as a few of the sentences became decoded.

'фслюнт тгам оиел гулф ткак фюж мрвиш' became ‘FS LU NT SN AM OI EL GY LF TQ KK FX XM RB NW’ and then ‘Embryo one implanted successfully’.

She felt her stomach turn. Over thirty of her eggs were used in test-tube baby trials. Seventeen of those zygotes were implanted into surrogates.

She dug around some more, flicking through heaps of data as Friday decoded more and more.

“Doctor’s report, October 14th 1997. Embryo #28 carried to term,” she muttered. “Child was delivered by emergency cesarean section due to lung complications, brackets, underdeveloped,” she read. “Placed in intensive care…” She trailed off. “Tell me about the father,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes. She stood and poured another coffee.

“ _Some_ information found,” Friday told her. “This file doesn’t provide a name, just basic details of ailments that match the child’s.”

Natasha read from the screen.

 **February 2nd, 2002** . Subject **#28-141097-A** has developed Asthma on top of her other conditions.

It was a girl. She had a _daughter_.

Her poor eyesight and heart palpitations make it clear the sperm sample used in conception was from the paternal subject prior to genetic alteration. **Project Aphrodite** is therefore considered **FAILED** . Subject **#28-121097-A** will be moved to another facility and repurposed. She shows affinity with technology and marksmanship, and as such, long-range field work should be considered.

“Alright, Friday, get me all of this stuff on a tablet I can take, and then find me an empty Quinjet I can, uh, ‘borrow’.”

“Quinjet ready for take off in thirty minutes. A secure tablet will be waiting for you on board. Would you like me to contact anyone?”

Nat hesitated. “Ask Barton to suit up.” 

* * *

“I’m sorry, Natasha, whatever it is, I can’t,” Clint sighed to her as she let herself in, a bulky backpack thrown over her shoulder. He had an open suitcase on his couch, half full. “The kids are expecting me, I’m cleared with Fury for two weeks of R&R.”

Nat pursed her lips. “Well, I have a mission, and I can’t go alone.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated. “It’s more like I don’t _want_ to go alone.”

He frowned at her and narrowed his eyes. “Nat, what’s going on?”

She shook her head. “If you’re not coming I’m not telling. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else.”

“Nat, look at me,” he prompted sternly, catching her eye. He paused for a moment. “If you really need a partner, I know someone who could help you. I’d say she doesn’t ask questions, but that’d be a barefaced lie - but she’s trustworthy.” Nat didn’t look convinced. “And she’s as good as me.”

“At what, being a pain in my ass?” Natasha joked defensively.

He raised his eyebrows at her derisively. “You want help or not?” 

She nodded. 

“Alright,” he said, and picked up the pen and paper on his coffee table. “Here’s where you can find her. Now, she’s kind of young-”

“What, like, twelve?”

“She’s twenty-seven, actually. But she’s basically me if I were a woman. So try not to sleep with her,” he winked at her, holding out the slip of paper.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him as she made her way out of his door. “In your dreams.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha recruits some backup, and they really hit it off. 
> 
> This chapter is mostly filler, I'm not gonna lie. I'm just delaying the point I have to actually write an action scene for as long as possible lol.

Boston, New York. Natasha has settled herself atop an empty warehouse, having narrowly avoided the gaps in the roof that will surely cave in in a few weeks. She watches with interest as a young brunette in a dark purple catsuit chases after a man dressed in all black. She can see the glimmer of a shiny handgun stuffed in the back of his jeans.

From what she can see, the brunette has a handle on the situation. The bow and arrows on her back remain untouched, she has instead opted for sheer speed and agility as she chases him down, sprinting as fast as her long legs will carry her. She catches up to him, less than a foot from his back, and takes a swipe at his hoodie. He trips and falls to the ground with a great thud, rolling six feet or so. Natasha grimaces, knowing that’s gonna leave a mark. Or ten.

The brunette had leapt over him as he fell, and was now rounding back on him, pulling handcuffs from her utility belt. He wasted no time in pulling his pistol on her. The woman’s hands went out to the sides.

“Hey, that’s not fair, I only brought pointy stuff,” she joked, catching her breath from the running.

He scrambled to his feet. “Don’t fucking move,” he warned her. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

She shrugged, quickly regretting it when his grip tightened on the gun. “I’m Hawkeye,” she supplied. He scoffed.

“Hawkeye’s an Avenger. And a dude. And doesn’t he usually have backup? Some White Widow, or something?”

Out of nowhere, a red-head grabs the pistol, quickly ejecting the magazine and the chambered round, then stripping the barrel from the top and dropping all the pieces.

Natasha stands with her hands on her hips beside the pair, both of whom are staring at her in disbelief.

“It’s _Black_ Widow, actually,” she says calmly. He turns to run, but Natasha easily takes him down with a swift kick to the back. She turns to face Hawkeye, who is still standing with her hands out in surrender, cuffs dangling from one hand, staring at Natasha. The redhead bristles slightly. “I’m sorry, are you going to restrain him or not?”

The brunette shakes out of her reverie and sets to work, handcuffing the perp on the ground and patting him down. She finds his loot stuff into his back pocket: a tiny, velvet drawstring bag.

“Wait, _that’s_ all he stole?”

When the woman speaks, it's with an interesting mix of American and Irish accents. “ _All_ he stole is about a million dollar’s worth of uncut diamonds from a safe deposit box.” She opens the pouch and tips a few into her hand, inspects them, then pours them back into the bag. She tucks it into the front of her catsuit, settling it safely between her breasts, earning her a raised eyebrow from Natasha.

She merely shrugs in response, then pulls her phone from her belt, sending off a quick text with her location. 

After the cops had turned up and hauled the guy away, along with the precious cargo, Black Widow and Hawkeye were left in the industrial yard alone. 

“I haven’t introduced myself,” the brunette said, holding out a hand. “Kate Bishop. And you’re Natasha Romanoff.”

Nat shook her hand firmly. “You should say Hawkeye, don’t go telling people your real name. Either way,” she smirked. “Why don’t you let me buy you some dinner?”

“Ooh, Black Widow, are you flirting with me?” Kate said, jokingly fawning herself as they both turned toward the main road. “I’m honoured.” It seemed being starstruck hadn’t lasted very long.

Natasha laughed, appreciating the curves on the other woman’s body as she walked ahead of her. “Oh, Kate, sweetie,” she sighed. “You’ll _know_ when I’m flirting with you.”

* * *

They slid into a booth at Griddy’s Donuts, both dropping their weapons onto the table next to the window - Nat knew that sitting on your gun was never the best idea. The waitress had seemed very uncomfortable when she’d brought over their menu and two coffee mugs, perhaps something to do with two women in catsuits turning up with guns at three in the morning.

“I’ll take the pumpkin pancakes, and some of that pecan syrup?” Kate asked politely, offering a smile to the elderly waitress. She looked at Natasha. “She’ll have the Belgian waffles, with strawberries.”

Once again, Natasha found herself raising an eyebrow at the other woman. The menu was plucked from her hands and the waitress wandered off to place their order, leaving the coffee pot behind at the wave of Kate’s hand.

“So to what do I owe the honour of meeting the great Black Widow?” Kate asked, wrapping her chilly hands around the hot mug. She seemed so suave, but Natasha could tell it was all an act.

“I’ve got a mission for you,” she said simply, sipping her own drink.

Kate’s eyes widened in excitement, and a grin spread across her face. “I’m getting a mission?!” she exclaimed, looking around quickly as Natasha hushed her. “From a real Avenger?” She whispered.

Nat laughed. “Clint’s a real Avenger, and he trained you!”

“Yeah but he wasn’t an Avenger _when_ he trained me! This is awesome!”

“How _old_ are you?” Natasha chuckled. She smiled at Kate’s blush.

Their food arrived, and they spent a few minutes eating in comfortable silence.

Kate sat back once her plate was empty, watching Natasha finish off the last few bites of her food. “Good?”

“Very,” she admitted. “Thank you for rudely ordering for me. I like a little bit of domination now and then,” she said, dabbing her mouth with the napkin.

Kate’s eyebrows raised, and she thought for a moment. “When you said I’d know if you were really flirting-”

“That wasn’t it,” Nat smiled. “But rest assured, you’re my type.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Bow and arrow really doin’ it for ya?”

“Not what’s doin’ it, nope.”

The pair exchanged flirtatious smiles across the table as the waitress cleared their plates.

“So, where are we headed on this mission of yours?” Kate asked, then finished off her coffee.

Natasha pushed her own cup away and started to gather her things. “How do you like the south of France?”

* * *

They land the Quinjet in a field next to a small, one-story farmhouse. As Kate walks down the loading ramp, she wonders how structurally sound it is. “Where are we?”

“A safe house,” Natasha answers, shouldering her duffel bag. “One of my old ones. You don’t mind spiders, right? There’s bound to be some in there.”

“Hey, I’m working with one, aren’t I?”

Natasha pressed a button on a keyfob in her hand, and Kate watched as the loading ramp lifted up and the Quinjet engaged it’s stealth mode. She stood staring for a moment. “I literally can’t see it. What the hell? Why do you have such incredible tech?”

They started walking toward the little house.

“I’m an Avenger, you think I trundle around in a bi-plane? Wait til you see what’s inside.”

Natasha’s words couldn’t have prepared Kate for what she found inside the ramshackle farmhouse. From the outside, sure, it was a dilapidated old bungalow with weeds taller than a fifth grader - but inside?

As soon as she walked through the door, Kate did a double take. Hardened concrete walls capable of withstanding any small explosion, a fingerprint scanner that Natasha paused at before they could go through into the open plan living room and kitchen. The place was even smaller than it seemed from the outside, presumably owing to the reinforced walls, floors and ceilings that probably acted as an above-ground bomb shelter when put together.

Two doors led off of the living area, and Kate peeked into them to see that they were two bedrooms, both with their own en-suite bathrooms. 

“This is nice,” she said. “ _And_ you bought me dinner first.”

“Ha ha,” Natasha said dryly, heading into the kitchen having dumped her bag on the sofa. “You really wanna get in my pants, don’t you?”

“Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying,” Kate shrugged. She dropped her gear down too, coughing a little at the cloud of dust that puffed up around her. “You know, you haven’t actually told me what our mission _is_ yet.”

“Then aren’t you stupid for tagging along when you have no idea what you’re getting into?” Nat jested, grabbing two questionably in-date root beers from a cabinet and heading back to Kate. She took a seat on the sofa and patted the space next to her. Kate took it.

“Okay, so, there is a super secret Hydra base hidden in the French Alps. There is someone there who has been passing intel about Hydra to SHIELD, always signing off as Beacon. Their leaks have been _instrumental_ in taking down some pretty nefarious Hydra plans, and we’re incredibly grateful. But I need to find someone, and she might be in that base, so we need Beacon on our side.”

Kate nodded along while Natasha spoke, taking in every word and occasionally sipping her drink. “Who do you need to find?”

Natasha hesitated. “That’s classified,” she said. She wasn’t sure she was ready to disclose her true mission to Kate just yet.

Kate all but rolled her eyes. “So how do we get in touch with Beacon?”

Nat opened a drawer in the coffee table in front of them and pulled out an old fashioned laptop. She plugged in the power cable extending out of the drawer and booted it up. Kate watched with interest. 

“Is this how long old computers usually take?” She asked quietly.

Natasha ignored her. “We’re gonna send a message back on the same frequency Beacon usually uses,” she explained, pulling up an application and starting to type.

‘ _Send your coordinates for extraction. One hour. Arania._ ’ 

“Your sign off is the Latin for spider? Could you be any more obvious?” 


	3. Chapter 3

**_October 16th, 1997._ **

_ Subject #28 renamed #28-141097-A. The surrogate carrying her began bleeding at around 6.30am on the 14th. She was rushed into theatre and an emergency cesarean was carried out, delivering the child under a week before the due date. Her lungs were underdeveloped and she has been placed on a ventilator. The surrogate did not survive. _

**_October 21st, 1997._ **

_ Subject #28-141097-A has been named Alyona R by the agent charged with raising her. _

**_February 2nd, 2002._ **

_ Alyona has developed asthma, and inhalers have been provided. _

**_July 3rd, 2003._ **

_ Alyona has developed sinusitis, causing frequent colds despite never leaving the base. _

**_September 5th, 2009_ _._ **

_ Alyona has displayed signs of easy fatigability and heart trouble or palpitations. This is especially concerning at age 11. She has been confined to her room with monitors attached. She seems calmest when on her computer, and as such she will be used as remote backup on some low-level missions to test her crisis response. _

Alyona sighed as she took a seat at the desk in her room. The glass wall behind the desk allowed her to see the walkway and out onto the hangar bay. Every now and then, the doors would open and a plane would take off or land. What she wouldn’t give to be on one, to see the actual outside world. 

She didn’t even know where she was. She could see snow flutters sometimes, when the doors opened, and guessed maybe Russia.

A notification popped up on her computer screen, alerting her to a new mission. She pulled on her headset and opened it up, reading the brief. Hydra agents undercover in SHIELD needed to get into a lab to retrieve a weapon and replace it with a dud.

It was her job to keep an eye on the cameras, looping them when needed and advising them of anyone incoming.

**_January 12th, 2010._ **

_ Alyona’s crisis response has proved invaluable. At age 12, she has a strong grasp on technological infiltration. Her clearance level has been raised. She will be tested in the field. _

**_M_ _arch 3rd, 2010._ **

_ Alyona was provided wi _ _ th sniper training before venturing into the field, and she has shown a particular affinity for the work. Her Supervising Officer has taught her how to calm her heart palpitations, which we found to be caused by anxiety. She’s making incredible progress. _

“Alyona,” her SO called, opening the door into her room. “You’re going to want to pack a bag.” His English came through in a thick Greek accent. “You are going on a field trip.” He left, leaving the door open behind him.

The blonde girl remained sitting on her bed in the corner, taking in what he’d said. Field work. She was going to do field work. She was leaving the base!

She finally jumped up, tossing her laptop aside onto her pillows and grabbing a backpack from the bottom of her closet. It was dusty, having never been used. She shook it off, coughing a little from the dust. She grabbed some essential clothes and stuffed them in. She was ready in less than five minutes, her laptop secure in her backpack, spare glasses, two spare inhalers, everything she needed.

She stood at the open door to her room. She hadn’t left it for almost a week, and this time she would actually be leaving the base as a whole. She’d proven herself as an asset, despite worrying for so long that her medical issues made her useless.

She finally stepped over the threshold, and made her way down to the armoury. Her SO was waiting for her there, standing next to a table which had a large silver weapons briefcase on it. He lifted the lid as she approached, and she grinned at the contents.

“This was made for you,” he explained as she looked down at the beautifully crafted white sniper rifle set carefully in the foam in segments.

“.308?” She asked, lifting the barrel to inspect it.

He nodded. “Winchester. Your favourite.” 

She replaced the barrel and her eyes fell on the empty magazine. She ran her fingers over the symbol painted onto it, something she’d been doodling since she was young. Just a red flame in a black circle, but she’d Sharpie’d it onto every piece of equipment she could call her own.

“I thought you would like that,” her SO muttered. He reached out and closed the case, locking it and pushing it towards her. “I am not coming with you, you will have to rely on your team. And they will rely on you.”

“Is this a test?” She asked, pulling the case from the table and wincing a little at how unexpectedly heavy it was.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “Complete this mission successfully and you will be assigned more.” 

**_August 21st, 2012._ **

_ Alyona’s field work has been instrumental in carrying out the Primary Directive. She has worked on several missions with The Asset, and her long-range rifle abilities are beginning to rival his. _

The now-fifteen year old girl sat at her computer. Hydra had really underestimated her abilities - she had set up an encrypted profile on it, allowing her to send coded messages on a hidden frequency. 

The application on screen was invisible to anyone who wasn’t wearing her glasses, an adjusted screen had ensured that, which meant that the camera behind her, up in the corner of her room, could only see a screen of mission reports she was supposed to be filling out.

She signed off as Beacon, as usual. When she’d first started leaking Hydra secrets, she hadn’t been sure they’d even found their way to the right people, but once news started coming in of foiled plans, of an Avengers mission that had wiped out a team of ‘robbers’ (Hydra wasn’t out in the open yet), she knew she was doing the right thing.

But still she had to play her part. Still she had to kill for them.

**_December 7th, 2014._ **

_ SHIELD has fallen, and we are now out in the open. The site has gone into lockdown, Project Aphrodite must remain in the dark, and as such the subjects will be kept out of active duty. _

“I don’t understand!” Alyona argued. “I’m a great field operative, I can help! Let me go off base, let me set up somewhere else!”

Her SO shook his head. “Absolutely not, your job is to stay here with the others. We just have to keep you safe until the time is right. This fight is beyond you, Alyona. You are just not ready.”

* * *

Alyona booted up her laptop for the third time that day, looking for something to do. She’d been in lockdown in the base for nearly four months, the longest she’d gone without leaving since her first field mission. She felt like a child again, trapped and imprisoned. The bay doors hadn’t opened for just as long. Nobody came, nobody went. It was just her, a handful of other subjects, and the staff who kept the place running.

She typed away absent-mindedly for a while, adjusting some code in her computer, when she noticed a little red dot appear in the corner. She frowned. That dot meant she had gotten a reply on her encoded frequency, which had literally never happened before. The notification was only a function she’d had to add in for the application she’d built to work.

She fiddled with her glasses, discreetly pressing a button in the frame that allowed her to see the hidden screen.

_ ‘Send your coordinates for extraction. One hour. Arania. _ ’

Alyona took a deep breath, working on remaining calm. She was going to get out of here. Someone was coming to get her, someone hopefully from the remnants of SHIELD.

‘ _ Access code 64972, east wing, minimal security. Beacon. _ ’ she replied, tagging the coordinates of the base onto the end. She was thankful to her SO for having her learn to co-pilot small aircraft, as it meant she’d become privy to the location of the base.

She thought for a moment, wondering how she was going to pack a bag with a camera in her room, someone on the other end of it watching her at all times. 

The answer came just as quickly as she thought the query - loop the cameras, of course. She set to work looping the one in her room to look like she was on her computer, then got up and packed a bag. Once she was done packing and had her backpack by the door, she set to work looping all the cameras between her room, the armoury that had been locked for four months, and the east wing.

She only had a fifteen minute window to get to the armoury and then to the east wing before the cameras would revert to a live feed. She didn’t think she’d have to worry about running into anyone on the way, it was late in the day and almost everyone on site would be in the mess hall eating dinner. 

After hitting enter, she stuffed her laptop into her backpack and pulled it on, then did up the clasps on her front to keep it secure. She took a look at the room she’d been kept prisoner in, hopefully her last, and started calmly making her way down the hall. 


End file.
